


go as hard as you want to

by buckystves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, Established Relationship, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, stiles and derek are actually happy wow plot twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1421263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckystves/pseuds/buckystves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski doesn't need your heteronormative idea that losing his virginity means having penetrative sex, thank you very much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	go as hard as you want to

**Author's Note:**

> I've been off of the smut train for too long, and this is me tentatively getting back onboard (also, this fandom is seriously lacking in fics that involve dry humping. Come on, people. Come _on_ ). 
> 
> Also, I might have fixated on Stiles in Derek's sweater a bit too much for a fic that wasn't actually _meant_ to fixate on Stiles in Derek's sweater, but oh well.
> 
> Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine and I'd appreciate it if you could point out any you see so I can fix them; there's probably a lot, because it's almost 1 am as of posting this and I'm prone to missing things.

Stiles has planned extensively for this. More than extensively, really; obsessively is probably more the word. Down to the letter, he’s got everything set: time, outfit, bedspread, how the fucking blinds on his window are going to block out and reflect the setting sun and how he’s going to dress to make that orange light catch his skin in the nicest possible way.

Yeah, it’s a bit insane, but he’s finally getting laid by the hottest werewolf in town – the world? Whatever, he’ll totally fight you on it – and in Beacon Hills, where faeries or selkies or vampires or _some_ weird supernatural creature could be keen on snapping his neck at any moment, meticulous is important. Meticulous is _lifesaving,_ damn you, and more important than that, it’s going to get him all the sex he wants tonight. Or, okay, all the sex he can reasonably have without his dad getting a few calls from the neighbors, but that’s close enough.

He showers leisurely, trying to take up as much time as he can, but he’s buzzing; his hands shake when he lathers them up, his knees are a bit too weak for comfort, and he soon realizes that the shampoo bottle makes a ridiculously good mock microphone for singing overdramatic ballads that lend themselves well to getting his nerves out. Losing your virginity is exciting but also terrifying, apparently; he didn’t quite expect it to run so deep for him.

When the water runs cold and he has to get out, Stiles ruffles his hair to shake off any free water droplets and ties a towel haphazardly around his waist. It’s barely useful; he has to hold it up with one hand and it droops on one side, but he’s alone and it’s mostly there out of habit anyway, just for him to walk to his room. He closes the door behind him – another habit – and walks to his dresser; his outfit is planned out, but he has to find it first.

He’s rummaging through drawers, getting progressively more frustrated – they’re _jeans,_ they can’t just _go_ somewhere – when a hand dropping against the back of his neck makes him jump about a foot in the air, a completely undignified screech coming out of him and his hands flailing in a miserable attempt at defense. A shirt flies to the other side of the room, and maybe Stiles would find it funny if he wasn’t so busy trying to pull the air back into his lungs.

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is thick with repressed laughter, and the corner of his mouth is upturned. Fucking _jerk,_ he is.

“Derek! Dude, you could warn a guy, holy _shit,_ ” Stiles says, panting, hands braced against his thighs. He lives in Beacon Hills and still hasn’t learned any self defense? Maybe he isn’t as smart as everyone thinks. Maybe he should really, really get on that. “I totally could have died if you weren’t you.”

Derek doesn’t respond, and Stiles wonders why until he realizes that his hands most definitely should not be touching his bare skin right now. He glances down quickly, brows receding up into his hairline as he feels heat spread across his cheeks.

“Um. Fuck,” he mutters, reaching down to the floor to grab his towel and hold it hastily in front of him. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to be naked with you, but not when it’s under embarrassing circumstances.”

The towel is wrapped loosely around his waist again, and Stiles thinks about maybe turning back to the drawers and trying to find his clothes again. What’s the point though, really? Derek’s early, so the plan’s not really much more than a bad idea now.

“ _This_ is embarrassing for you?” Derek’s got his eyebrow quirked, like he finds it incredibly hard to believe after every questionable thing Stiles has done.

“It wouldn’t be for you?” Stiles throws the first thing he grabs onto himself, and it happens to be one of Derek’s sweaters, thumb holes and all. It’s the best thing he’s ever stolen from Derek, he thinks; it’s soft and well worn, just on the better side of threadbare, and as many washes as it’s gone through it never loses its warmth or the scent of Derek, vague but pleasant. He smiles when he adjusts the sleeves a little, and Derek seems to freeze. “So why are you so early? I know I’m a hot piece of ass, and I’m not gonna complain, but come on, have a little self control.”

Stiles grins as he toys with the edge of his sleeve, just long enough to cover part of his palm. Derek steps closer, and Stiles doesn’t even register it – he’s gotten almost ridiculously used to werewolves all up in his space, and cuddles from bodies with above-average temperatures are really, really great – and goes on talking.

“The sex thing, though,” he says, turning around and crouching to pull on a pair of boxers, grabbing the towel off of his hips and throwing it in the direction of the shirt from earlier, “um, we should do that now if you’re cool with- _oh._ ”

Stiles is greeted upon turning with lips on his neck and hands against his hips, _firmly_ against his hips, and god, how much force would it take for Derek to leave bruises? He totally wants sex bruises. He’ll probably complain about them, if he’s being honest, but love it when he can push against something he’ll feel when he brings himself off later and – oh, god, is he even going to _want_ to get hard later? How many times can werewolves go in a couple of hours?

“As many times as you want me to,” Derek says, warm breath tickling Stiles’ neck.

“I said that out loud. Need to work on that one,” Stiles mutters, biting off a moan when Derek nips at his collarbone. He’s hit with a realization a few seconds later. “I’m _noisy_ , holy shit. I’m, like, channeling porn, I think.”

Derek’s laugh shakes his shoulders and makes him smile, and Stiles pulls his head up just to watch. Derek’s smile comes more readily now, easier, but it’s still not his most common expression; Stiles absolutely adores it, he’ll admit.

“Yeah,” Derek says, “and you’re probably going to stay that way.”

Stiles grins, because hey, teenage boy, and that sounds an awful lot like a promise.  

“Is that a challenge?”

Things are happening earlier than he’d planned, but he’s okay with it. _So_ okay with it.

 “If you want it to be.”

Stiles feels like a walking cliché, but playing along is too fun for it to matter. “Who cares.”

And then they’re together, wrapped up in each other in the middle of Stiles’ bedroom, and Derek’s hands are on his ass and his hands are in Derek’s hair and it’s so _good_. They’ve done this before, obviously, but it never stops surprising him how nice it actually is.

Stiles is half hard already and Derek’s well on his way, and Stiles pushes them back towards the bed while Derek shifts his focus from his mouth back to his neck.

“Are you into that? The whole ‘throat equals vulnerable’ thing?” Stiles asks, and Derek bites down and _growls_ , throaty and dark, just as they trip onto the mattress.  Stiles whines, and huh, that’s new, he totally thought his sex noises would be rougher, more like groans (what? He can’t be condemned for wishful thinking).

Derek bumps his head against the wall and it makes him stop what he’s doing to Stiles’ neck for a minute, and he looks so confused that Stiles can’t help but laugh.

“Oh my god. Shit, sorry, are you good?” It’s kind of hard to take things seriously when they’re both turned on and Derek’s wide-eyed underneath him. Porn would be so much better if you put these moments in, he realizes, so much more relatable. Maybe _he_ should be directing porn instead of whatever assholes do most of it now.

Derek closes his eyes and he smiles, and it’s soft and warm and _happy._ “I’m fine,” he says, and then he’s reaching for Stiles again and pushing his hands under the sweater Stiles is wearing. _His_ sweater. He looks a little too fascinated with how it hangs just the tiniest bit big; Stiles’ eyes slip shut and he can barely keep himself from smiling.

“Dude. Dude, you’re so cute,” he says, and then they’re kissing again and Stiles is pushing Derek onto his back. His mouth is warm and soft and it doesn’t taste like much, maybe the weird cinnamon toothpaste he uses, but it’s familiar and pleasant and that’s all that matters.

Stiles is fully hard now, and if he’s gonna judge by what he feels pressing against his ass, Derek is too.

The first time he grinds down is accidental, an involuntary jolt when Derek’s fingers brush over his nipple and it feels better than he expected, and he does it again almost immediately.

“Holy _fuck,_ ” he breathes, bracing his hands against Derek’s chest so that he has better leverage, “I’m such a virgin, oh my god, this feels amazing.”

Derek smiles, grabbing his hips to still them while he pops open on his own jeans and pushes them part way down his thighs. Makes sense; Stiles knows that zippers hurt.

When Derek thrusts up again Stiles really can’t help the moan that slips out; he didn’t think he’d move so soon, fuck, he hasn’t even pushed his boxers down at all.

“Here, take those off, you don’t have to-“ Stiles says, fingers slipping under the waistband.

Derek grabs his wrist, pulls his hand away and sucks a mark onto his pulse point. How is that hot, Stiles wonders, why is that a thing? Fucking _werewolves._ “Don’t bother,” he says, and that’s just _fine_ , means they can get back to what they were doing earlier. But before Stiles can start moving his hips again, get into a rhythm, Derek lets go of his wrist and palms his cock and okay, yeah, that’s great too.

“ _Derek,_ ” Stiles chokes out, and Derek’s propping himself up one arm so that they can kiss and it’s suddenly so much dirtier than before, breathing hot and wet into each other’s mouths while Stiles roll down and Derek pushes up and his _hand_ , fuck, it’s just barely enough when Stiles presses into it.

Derek moans when Stiles grinds down particularly hard, and he slips his hand into Stiles’ boxers to wrap it around him. He’s already leaking precum, and Stiles honest to god _whines_ when Derek swipes his thumb over the head.

“Fuck, fuck, please,” Stiles is saying, and his voice is breathy and strained and he feels like he might burst. He throws his arms around Derek’s shoulders to pull him closer, drops his forehead against Derek’s neck and tries to breathe in some way that isn’t just short pants.

Stiles’ movements are more frantic now, faster and sharper, and Derek sucks a mark into his collarbone that is _definitely_ going to show up later. He moves his hand faster over Stiles’ cock, his grip a bit firmer, and when Stiles comes barely seconds later he shakes and muffles his moan into Derek’s shoulder. He rides through it, just barely rocking himself.

Stiles is breathing heavy when he lifts his head from Derek’s shoulder, his pupils blown and his skin flushed. He holds Derek’s face in his hands, thumbs moving across his cheekbones, and keeps his gaze while he deliberately grinds his ass down, again, again, again. He’s never thought he’d do this before, but apparently he cares a lot less about embarrassment when he’s just had an orgasm.

Derek’s hand slips out of Stiles’ boxers to grasp his thigh, _almost_ there, and then Stiles’ moves in to kiss him soundly and he comes harder than he has any time in recent memory.

Stiles slides out of his lap and immediately flops back onto his pillows. His eyes are drooping, the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile; he tugs on the sleeve of Derek’s shirt until he lies down with him, and throws an arm over his waist.

Stiles mutters something, and Derek doesn’t quite catch it.

“What?”

“Uh,” Stiles says, and tilts his head so he’s looking at Derek, “we totally just had sex while I was wearing your sweater.”

“We did.”

“And now we’re disgusting.”

“We are.”

Stiles taps his fingers against Derek’s chest. “So now we should shower.”

Derek laughs, and just barely resists the urge to shake his head fondly.

“We should.”

Stiles has planned for exactly none of this, but really, some things shouldn't have play-by-plays.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry if my porn was terrible. I tried.


End file.
